Night Bus
by dramatic owl
Summary: Of all people for her to run into during her escape from Hillwood, of course it had to be Helga Pataki. But maybe it would work in her favor.


ladiesbingo prompt: information is given off the record

Summary: Of all people for her to run into during her escape from Hillwood, of course it had to be Helga Pataki. But maybe it would work in her favor. Written with a very slight hat-tip to the film _It Happened One Night_.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just this story.

* * *

Rhonda slid down in her seat and pulled her grey hoodie further over her head as soon as she eyed Helga Pataki boarding the Grey Rabbit bus. She'd managed to get here without being spotted by anyone. The last thing she needed was her former classmate ruining everything now.

"Sneaking away to meet Harold Berman, Rhonda?"

"Shhh!" She gritted her teeth. "Leave me alone, Helga."

Helga tossed her bag on the rack above them then took a seat, uninvited, beside her.

"The bus is full and there's nowhere else I want to sit. At least it'll be me and not some old pervert sleeping next to you overnight. Anyway, I promise I won't give you away."

She eyed her old schoolmate suspiciously from beneath her hood. Helga could be sarcastic and harsh but she wasn't really a bad person. Growing up together they'd had their ups and downs. Helga could be mean but Rhonda had certainly done her own part in excluding her at times and making her feel bad. They'd never been very close even though they hung out in the same neighborhood crowd all those years as kids. Overall Helga was okay though and she could be quite kind and sympathetic. On the other hand, she made her living as a journalist now and she was as hungry as any journo to land a good story. The Wellington Lloyds had been splattered all over the pages of the newspapers and tabloids enough in the last few months.

"You want an exclusive." She sighed in exasperation. "That's the catch."

"If you do give me an exclusive I promise to cover you fairly. I'm a freelancer and I live on a shoe-string, but I don't ever work for tabloids and that's not my writing style."

That was true. Helga had grown up to be a reputable – and extremely talented – writer and her articles were always well researched, well-sourced, and fact-checked. She'd never seen an article by Helga published anywhere but top-notch papers and magazines.

"Besides, we're old friends."

"Sort of."

"We hung out. I gave you some good advice when we were younger."

"You gave me terrible advice, Helga. Arnold always had to fix the messes you made."

"So." She leaned back in her seat and grinned. "You, traveling by bus. Wonders never cease."

"It's actually pretty clever of me if you think about it. No one would be looking for me on a Grey Rabbit bus."

"Very true. This isn't exactly first-class travel. Who knew I'd run into you here among us common folk, dressed in old jeans and a ratty sweatshirt like me. Though pulling that hood all the way over almost to your nose like that makes you even more conspicuous. That's what caught my eye, you know. You looked like you were hiding."

Rhonda slid the over-sized hood back to a less extreme position.

Helga shifted and stood. She reached up into her bag, riffling around until she found what she was looking for. Food.

"Want one?"

Rhonda had escaped from her parents in such haste she'd forgotten to pack several things she needed, including snacks. She had cash on her, but she had to spend it slowly and carefully. She'd already used a chunk of it to pay for her bus ticket because she didn't want to use a card. Any ATM or credit card activity could be traced, and she wanted to be at least halfway across the country, or further, before risking that.

She accepted the granola bar that Helga held out. "Thank you."

They sat in silence, munching on their snacks. The bus pulled out of the depot after a few minutes and Rhonda was finally putting distance between herself and Hillwood.

#

After one day of riding the bus Rhonda understood why it was the cheapest way to travel. Her body was cramped and sore from sitting in that seat, with no leg room at all, and she wasn't even tall. Helga was at least four or five inches taller than her and long-legged; she must've been exceptionally miserable.

Even the scenery was lousy, since they mostly drove on highways.

They'd had rest stops along the way, short, fifteen-minute bathroom breaks. This driver was determined to keep to a schedule. Sometimes there was a small grocery or stand in the vicinity where they could buy snacks and sundries. At eight o'clock there was finally a thirty-minute evening stop for dinner, where their only choice for food was the dingy cafeteria in the small depot.

"Is Harold expecting you?" Helga asked in between bites of her cheeseburger. "Or are you going to surprise him?"

They sat at a table in a corner, away from everyone else, but Rhonda still glanced around, checking that they were out of earshot.

"Is our conversation going to be on the record?"

Helga waved a hand to indicate the table. "Do you see a notebook and pen? Recorder?"

"You could write it down later."

"We're off the record until you say otherwise. Word of honor."

"I haven't had a chance to call him, but he might have read it in the papers."

"Maybe. It may have not made it to the New York papers yet."

Rhonda nibbled nervously on cinnamon toast and took sips from her cup of tea. They were the only items on the menu that seemed safe to her, especially since her stomach was a bit queasy from the ride, and it was good for her budget.

"What do your parents have against Harold Berman anyway?"

"Nothing. I never spoke to them about him. They just have their hopes set on me marrying Charles Llewelyn-Davis the Second, heir to the energy mogul Charles Llewelyn-Davis the First. It's both a marriage and a business arrangement made in heaven. Everyone will be happy."

"Except you, I guess. You don't love Charles Llewelyn-Davis the Second obviously."

"He's okay. Harold and I always had a connection that neither of us had with anyone else. Even though we're so different."

For a long time that was something she couldn't admit, not even to herself. She was a Wellington Lloyd, after all, and no matter how good a friend Harold was or how much she admired him, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd the butcher's wife did not fit the image she had of herself, and especially not that of her parents. Now Harold worked on a larger scale as a meat distributor. He'd gone to a school in New York City with a good business management program, loved the city and stayed. He was a successful businessman and entrepreneur, and did very well for himself. Still, he came from a very different background and his family didn't have a position in society or anywhere else. They were, to use Helga's term, 'common folk' even though they had money. Besides, Harold's family had their own views and desires for their son, and no doubt she didn't fit their bill either.

She wasn't completely against giving in to her parents' wishes or marrying Charles Llewelyn-Davis the Second. A good financial arrangement for both families and she'd keep the lifestyle she'd always had and wanted. Charles wasn't a bad guy. Maybe they could make a decent go of it. But she wanted to see Harold and talk to him one more time before she went through with it, something her parents and Charles and his family wouldn't understand. She'd had to run away from them all, temporarily.

"Maybe the difference is what makes it so special," Helga said.

Rhonda smiled at her. "Maybe."

"Why run away though? Why not just tell your parents that the arrangement isn't for you?"

"It's complicated."

Helga snorted. "I'm sure."

The end of their half-hour layover was approaching so they asked for the check. Helga pushed her hand away when she tried to give her money and paid the bill.

"You're on a budget. Save your cash. You'll give yourself away if you use an ATM card."

"I know."

They grabbed their carry-ons and went out to the bus for the overnight leg of the journey, something Rhonda was not looking forward to. They stayed outside until the driver came out and they absolutely had to get on board.

#

"Ugh, what a terrible night."

"At least nobody was sleeping on you," Helga snapped.

The driver stopped in front of a small shabby wooden shelter that apparently served as this town's bus stop, announced that this was a thirty-minute breakfast stop and told them to be back on board at seven. Everyone was rumpled and bleary-eyed as they stumbled off the bus; they migrated like a mob of zombies to the diner across the street.

Inside Helga grabbed one of the newspapers from the stack next to the cash register and handed money over to the man behind the counter. Rhonda kept her head down and went off to get a table away from the crowd, a small two-person booth in the back. Helga slid into the other side of the booth a moment later.

"Here you are on the front page again," she said sotto voce.

She set the paper down on the table and turned it so Rhonda could see the headline: _Fiancé of Energy Heir Charles Llewelyn-Davis II Still at Large_.

"I hate that picture," Rhonda muttered, pushing her hair further forward to obscure her face. "That's the only one they've been using."

She did like the dress she was wearing in it though.

"This article is obviously written by a man," Helga remarked in disgust. "It's about you but they only print his name."

"Good. I don't need my name in the papers anymore."

"You were smart to dress down for the trip. And after a night on the bus you look as crappy as the rest of us."

"Thanks so much, Helga."

"People will be less likely to notice you." She tapped the photograph. "They'll expect you to be dressed and made-up like this."

"I feel gross."

"But you blend in."

Rhonda pulled the paper closer and read the article. It was a bit sensationalist but at least it didn't refer to her as 'the raven-haired socialite'.

After they ordered their breakfast Helga took a Grey Rabbit timetable out of her bag and began to study it.

"There's another bus that goes through here at three. We'd need to wait around for a few hours."

"Why would we want to hang around here for eight hours to catch a different bus?"

"If the driver or one of the passengers recognizes you, we need to disappear and have an alternate plan. Your father is offering a large reward for information on your whereabouts, which will motivate anyone and everyone to turn you in without caring about your side of the story."

"I'm sure it's occurred to you that you could call my father and collect the reward."

"Yeah, it has."

Helga shifted her attention back to the timetable and pored over it until their breakfast came.

Rhonda still had very little appetite, but she wanted something more substantial and nutritious than toast so she'd ordered a bowl of oatmeal. With difficulty she spooned small amounts into her mouth, while attempting to not see Helga chow down on eggs, pancakes with syrup, bacon and one of those pink-iced donuts with sprinkles that she'd always liked. She didn't know how anyone could eat that much this early in the morning, especially after the overnight bus ride they'd just had.

"That's disgusting," she exclaimed with a wrinkled nose when Helga dunked the donut into her coffee, leaving chunks of donut, sprinkles and blobs of pink frosting floating in the liquid.

"Please. You can be as undainty as anyone, Rhonda. You played football in the mud with us well into our teens. You were really good too." Helga stuck her teaspoon into the mug, fished out a piece of donut along with a blob of frosting and spooned it into her mouth. "Delicious. And it sweetens the coffee. You should try it."

"You're holding the donut in the coffee for too long and it gets too soft. That's why you're dropping pieces of cake and frosting in it, Helga."

"What, did they teach you how to dunk in that fancy finishing school you went to? I bet you hold your pinky up when you dunk."

"It's basic science. Cake in liquid too long falls apart."

Helga burst into laughter. "Well, I like it this way. If you want to show me the proper dunking technique feel free, but you need to order your own donut. I'm not sharing."

"Anyway, everyone knows that hot apple cider is the proper drink for dunking."

They were back on board and on their way at seven. Nobody paid attention to them and the rest of the morning passed uneventfully.

Early in the afternoon Rhonda became aware of a man in the seat across the aisle staring at her. She kept her hood up to obscure her face and angled herself in her seat so she was turned away from him. It was possible he was just ogling her, but there was a chance he'd recognized her from her picture in the paper. Beside her she could hear Helga rummaging around in her bag, then the sound of a pen scratching on paper and a page being ripped out of a notebook. She felt paper and the press of Helga's fingers on her palm.

Rhonda looked down and read Helga's fluid script, written in her trademark purple pen.

 _Take all your stuff when we get off at the next rest stop. We're not getting back on this bus._

#

As soon as the driver let them off the bus for their fifteen-minute break at the depot Helga told Rhonda to go to the ladies' room.

"I'll keep an eye on the creep."

"You noticed him too."

She nodded. "He was hard to miss. I don't know if he recognizes you or not but either way he's creepy. I'm going to watch what he does. I'll come in and get you in a few minutes."

Rhonda strolled as calmly as she could to the ladies' room. She removed her sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath, squirted soap on a wet paper towel and made an attempt to wash herself while she waited for Helga. This would hopefully be the last long-distance bus trip she ever took in her life.

Helga finally came into the ladies' room a few minutes later, while Rhonda was putting her shirt back on. "He used the pay phone as soon as he got into the depot. The call could've been to anyone, but just in case we need to get out of here without you being seen."

The bathroom window was so dirty it was nearly impossible to see anything outside of it and it made a squawking sound as Helga lifted it open. She stuck her head out to look around then drew back inside.

"You first," she said, turning to Rhonda and making a grand gesture to the window.

"Climbing out the bathroom window? Isn't that a little cliché, Helga?"

"It's a way out."

"Can't we just wait until the bus leaves and then walk away?"

Helga was silent for a little while, apparently thinking it over. "Here's the thing. If that guy did call your father or the papers about you he probably won't get back on the bus either. He'll wait here until whoever he called comes so he can point out where you are and collect his reward." She pointed to the window. "Less dignified but a better way to make an escape."

"Oh, all right. The window it is. At least I'm dressed down."

#

The hotel they checked into was no frills but clean. Rhonda had promised to pay Helga back once this was all over and she had access to her bank account, but Helga just rolled her eyes and agreed that they might as well stay overnight and pick up the connection at four o'clock the next day instead of hanging around town all day to board a midnight bus.

Rhonda was so grateful to step into the shower and wash off two days of grime she didn't care that there was only one double bed in the room that they would have to share. When she stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, she found Helga gone from the room and panic gripped her. What if she'd been helping her just to get her trapped all along? She'd admitted it had occurred to her to call her father and grab the money.

She dried off hurriedly and dressed in fresh clothes. Just as she was stuffing her dirty jeans and sweatshirt into her bag and preparing for a quick departure, the lock in the door clicked and Helga entered the room carrying a pizza and two bottles of Yahoo soda.

"I wasn't sure what toppings you liked, if any, so I just got plain."

"Oh. Thanks." Rhonda put her bag in the closet and went to join Helga at the small round table by the window. "I'm pretty hungry."

They were silent for the first few minutes, both of them starving and scarfing down their pizza. Rhonda had barely eaten anything since she left Hillwood and she had to force herself to slow down.

"Helga, you know why I'm traveling by bus. Why are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"Arnold has a big idea, so I'm going to meet him at the other end of the country, just like you're doing with Harold. Good thing he's patient and one of us has a sense of reality." Helga rolled her eyes and reached for another slice of pizza.

"Why didn't you just fly out to him?"

"Shoe-string budget, remember?"

"If you got the reward money from my father you wouldn't be on a shoe-string budget."

"Arnold would not want to get money for one of his projects that way. He's got scruples. And he wouldn't like me getting it that way either. He's raising the money via honest fundraising means."

"Leave it to Arnold to keep you honest."

"Ha! Exactly. Besides, I could earn money with a good story too."

"It was obvious from the start that was your motive for helping me out."

She shrugged. "I also don't think anyone should be forced to marry someone they don't want to."

"I'm not being forced," Rhonda retorted.

"You don't seem very happy about any of it though. Your parents are going ahead with all sorts of plans for you and you're running off to elope with Harold."

"I am not eloping with Harold, Helga. I just want to see him once so I can talk to him." She paused for a moment then said softly, "Before I go through with marrying Charles."

Rhonda scowled at the knowing look Helga flashed her.

"Anyway, it's not just about my parents. Harold's parents would have a say too."

"Why wouldn't they like you?"

"It's not that they wouldn't like me. But they have their own preferences for their son. Like I said, it's complicated."

#

They'd closed the curtains before turning in and the room was pitch black. Rhonda lay on her back, aware of Helga beside her. They'd ribbed each other about not hogging the blankets or rolling over and encroaching on the other one's side of the bed. She couldn't sleep, but she was doing her best to stay as still as possible so as not to bother Helga the way she had on the bus the previous night.

"Arnold wants to create a documentary with me." Helga's voice pierced the darkness. "He'll film, obviously, and I'll write the screenplay for the film."

"I didn't know you were up. I was trying to keep quiet and not bother you."

"You didn't bother me. But I could tell you were up."

"So, what's the subject matter for Arnold's documentary?"

"The World Nomad Games in Central Asia. Different countries have different versions of the games, but they're all pretty similar. I have to admit some of it sounds really cool. They have wrestling contests, archery contests. There are acrobatic archers who can shoot arrows with their toes, and some of the archers shoot at the target while riding on horseback. I'm less interested in the goat-dragging."

"What on earth is goat-dragging?"

"I'm not sure you want to know."

"Try me."

"The game is played on horseback, there are two goals at either end of the field. The object is to land a headless goat carcass into your opponent's goal."

"Oh my God, ewww!"

"Told you."

"And you want to go and document this with him?"

"I'll go anywhere with him. Anyhow, it'll all depend on if we manage to get enough funds to go. To be honest, I'd be fine if we just stayed local and documented a day in the life of the guys from Wrestle Mania. Hell, heading back to Hillwood and documenting the feral cats living in Wanky Land would be a more realistic goal at this point."

"Feral cats in Wanky Land would be a popular topic. People love looking at pictures of cats. Photographers have already published books on it, books with pictures of the feral cats of Japan, the Hagia Sophia cat in Istanbul."

They ended up in a long discussion about the photogenic qualities of cats, the popularity of cats on the internet, and how an alien species who invaded the planet would conclude that cats were deities and humans their servants.

"There may be something in the feral cats of Wanky Land idea," Helga laughed. "I'll have to bring it up with Arnold."

"You're lucky to have each other." Rhonda suppressed a sigh. "I actually haven't seen Harold in a few months but we talk on the phone all the time."

"Have your parents met him?"

"Sort of. I mean, they knew he was one of my classmates growing up, but I don't think they really paid much attention to any of my classmates."

"What about his parents?"

"They know me as a friend of his. The thing is…"

Rhonda paused, took a deep breath.

"Never mind."

Helga snapped on the lamp by her side of the bed then turned on her side to face her and propped herself up on an elbow.

"If it's too personal I won't pry, but it seems to really be weighing on you. I told you I won't write about anything unless you give me explicit permission and I meant it, if that's what you're still nervous about," she said, divining the unspoken fear that Rhonda still harbored. "Especially if it's very personal. Pinky promise."

She held out her free hand, pinky extended. Rhonda sat up, reached over and linked their pinkies, sealing their agreement the way they all did when they were kids.

"Holidays were always secular for my family. We had gifts, decorations, a tree for Christmas. Baskets for Easter. But we never went to church, except to go to a wedding or funeral. We weren't religious at all. But the Bermans, their religion is a pretty big part of their life. I could be wrong, but I think his parents would most likely prefer that he marry a Jewish woman. Someone who would raise their grandchildren Jewish."

"If you and Harold decided to marry and that was an issue would you be willing to convert?"

"I don't know. I've given it thought. I researched and learned as much as I could on my own about it. It's a big step though. Even though I've never been religious, the idea of converting to a whole new religion feels like such a big change in my identity. I would be willing to raise our children Jewish even if I'm not practicing, I'm just not sure how strict his parents are about that though. I mean, it's never come up. I've just been thinking about it on my own for a long time."

"Religion really can be a hot button, for anyone, any faith, religious or not."

"Anyway, I'm hoping when I meet up with Harold that's something we can maybe talk about. Maybe we'll decide it's better to go our separate ways, but at least we'll have talked it out."

"That's true."

Rhonda glanced at the clock. "It's already four-thirty in the morning. The one night I get to sleep in a bed and I can't sleep."

"In that case, we need snacks," Helga said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed. She began to pull on her clothes and shoes. "I'll be back in a bit."

#

"Leave it to you to spot the one twenty-four-hour donut shop in town," Rhonda remarked when Helga returned to the room at five o'clock in the morning with a box of glazed donuts and a jug of apple cider. "Six donuts are going to be a bit much for just the two of us though."

Helga poured apple cider into the two coffee cups provided by the hotel and stuck them in the microwave.

"Now you can give me lessons in hoity-toity donut dunking." She removed the hot cups when the timer went off and brought them to the small round table by the window. "Pinky out?"

"If you want to, but it isn't necessary," Rhonda instructed. She took a donut from the box and demonstrated the quick dip into the cup. "See? Just enough to moisten it but not so long that it falls apart."

"Thanks, Teach. I still like my way," Helga said, after taking a bite of her apple-cider tinged donut. "But you're right. Hot cider is a great dunking beverage."

They'd gotten a late check-out from the hotel, at one o'clock, so about an hour after their donut and cider binge Rhonda got back into bed to take a nap. When she woke up at eleven Helga was just returning from outside with a wig she'd bought so Rhonda could disguise herself.

"Blonde? You got me a blonde wig, Helga? That is the _worst_ idea, blonde will never work for me."

"You'll look like my sister."

"I look like a street walker," she muttered, pulling the wig on and studying herself in the mirror over the dresser.

"Nah, that's just the effect of this cheap hotel's mirror."

Helga grinned. Rhonda snorted then burst into laughter. She put on the other sweatshirt she'd brought with her, a navy blue one, and pulled the hood up over the wig, trying out the full look.

"This will fool no one."

"You look gorgeous," Helga joked. "Anyway, you know the old saying. People see what they expect to see. They'll see blonde hair and won't associate you with the woman in the photographs."

"Hopefully. At least you got the hair texture right. A wig with curly hair would've been really ridiculous."

Helga turned out to be right about people seeing what they expect to see. When they got to the depot they immediately spotted men looking at that morning's newspaper then glancing around studying faces, but no one looked twice at two blonde women. Helga bought a newspaper and they nonchalantly sat down on one of the benches in the back of the waiting area. In a stage whisper that only Rhonda could hear, Helga read the latest article about the tip from a bus passenger that a woman in a grey sweatshirt who looked very much like the Rhonda Wellington Lloyd in the newspaper photo had gotten off his bus in Kenosha the day before.

#

The rest of the journey was thankfully uneventful.

Arriving at New York's Port Authority after two more days of bus travel with only a few fifteen minute or half hour rest stops to break it up was both a relief and a let-down. Rhonda was glad to be getting off buses for good and she was excited to see Harold. She'd called him from the hotel room two days earlier and he told her he would meet her at the Port Authority.

She never thought she'd be sorry to part ways with Helga Pataki. Yet as they gathered their things together and prepared to disembark a twinge of melancholy filled her. Helga had become an unexpected ally and traveling with her had been fun.

Helga walked with her to the area near the information windows, where Harold had told her he would meet her. Rhonda took pen and paper out of her bag and gestured for Helga to turn around so she could use her back to write.

"Give me your address. I'll send you a check to cover everything you spotted me for."

She tore the paper in two, wrote her address on one half to give to Helga, then wrote Helga's address on the other.

"Well, good luck with everything," Helga said, straightening and turning back to her. She held out her hand to shake. "Whatever happens, I hope it'll be the best…scenario for you."

"Do you want to stick around to say hello to Harold?"

"I kind of need to get going. Say hello for me though?"

"Sure. Well, thanks for looking out for me on this trip. Good luck with your project with Arnold." She hesitated, shy for a minute, then met Helga's eye. "If you have time, get in contact with me and let me know how it's going. I'd like to hear about it. And I'd like to stay in touch."

Helga smiled warmly. "I will. You let me know what happens with you too. It'll probably be in the papers, but I'd like to hear about it from the source."

They shook hands, then Helga shifted her bag higher onto her shoulder and walked off toward the exit to the street. A few minutes later Rhonda caught sight of Harold headed her way. With a smile she pulled off the blonde wig she'd been wearing since Kenosha, waved at him then went forward to meet him.


End file.
